


The Rhythm of the Rain

by BecauseWords



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Phil Lester, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Law Student Dan Howell, M/M, PBB 2017, Phandom Big Bang 2017, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 00:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseWords/pseuds/BecauseWords
Summary: In which Phil is an art major working as a spray paint artist on the streets of London where he meets lots of new people. Includes: Excessive consumption of marshmallows, a cactus named Edward, and two dorks getting to know each other during the cold months of autumn.





	The Rhythm of the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaargh I can't believe it's finally time to upload this! I've been working on this story for a few months now (mostly during french classes) and I'm equal parts excited and nervous to get it out into the void! The title is inspired by Fall Out Boy's song 'Jet Pack Blues' because I've been listening to it a lot during the writing process and I felt like it kind of fit. Please leave a comment if you feel like it, I really appreciate it :)
> 
> A huuuge thank you goes to my lovely beta [doodlebuglester](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlebuglester/pseuds/doodlebuglester) without whom I probably wouldn't even have finished half of this story. Thanks for being patient with my procrastinating ass, you're the best!
> 
> Also, you HAVE to check out the [drawing](http://onixiage.tumblr.com/image/167532568193) that my artist [onixiage](http://onixiage.tumblr.com/) made because honestly, their drawings inspired and motivated me when nothing else could. Y'all are amazing!

Phil silently thanked whoever had had the glorious idea of setting up a giant piano in front of the small music store in the city centre. It was certainly a good marketing idea – who didn’t like getting to play grand piano for free once in a while? Exactly.

Sadly, the instrument didn’t only attract the attention of those who were actually able to play it, in fact, those were the rarest visitors Phil saw (or rather heard) throughout the day. The majority of people who used it were teens on a shopping trip who weren’t even able to read sheet music but deemed their ability to play through the first twenty seconds of “Chopsticks” worth showing off.

It wasn’t even that Phil was a secret musical genius, but one can only stand so many repetitions of that certain piece without losing it. Sighing, he brushed his fringe out of his face and wiped his paint-splattered hands on his jeans. Who was he kidding anyways, as much as those kids annoyed him, selling his artwork had become way easier since the owner of the shop next to which he liked to paint had set up The Piano. It probably improved Phil’s business more than the actual owner’s, considering most people didn’t actually let themselves get lured inside the store.

They usually gathered around the instrument in a loose half circle, either listening to one of the few talented musicians one could encounter throughout the day or waiting for their turn to play.

Right now, two girls in sundresses were sitting on the bench, one seemingly talking the other through the entirety of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in slow motion. He winced involuntarily whenever she missed a key, but found the whole thing still more endearing than unnerving. If he was a more sarcastic person, Phil pondered, he’d probably start handing out “You Tried” stars.

Humming along to their playing, he took out another sheet of glossy paper from his supply bag and set up everything for his next artwork. Spray-painting, however frustrating and difficult to learn it had been in the beginning, had become a fully automatic task for him by now. The process was almost always the same: Covering the paper in a few nice colours, setting a few pieces of cutlery down he might have borrowed from his mum a few months ago, smudging stuff, adding another thick layer of paint, taking off his bowls and stencils, adding white highlights for a final touch.

He liked space, he wouldn’t have picked it as the main theme of his paintings if he didn’t, but Phil would be lying if he said that the low difficulty and the short period of time he needed to complete one piece weren’t major factors that influenced his decision making.  
He needed to capture people’s attention after all, if he wanted them to actually stop walking to take a closer look at what he was doing. However, The Piano had certainly helped with this problem. Those waiting in line for a chance to play it often spent their time watching Phil paint or admiring his already finished art.

To conclude, Phil thought of the instrument and its users with a mixture of fondness, mild annoyance and thankfulness.

His fondness even increased when he heard the melody of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” being replaced by the first few notes of “Für Elise”. Phil smiled to himself and finished his last painting of the day with an energetic splatter of white paint that covered his canvas (and also his skinny jeans, but those weren’t his good pair anyways). He waited for it to dry and took a look at his surroundings, tapping his foot absent-mindedly.

There were lots of dark grey clouds covering the already grey sky above London and the few shoppers left in the grey pedestrian zone were hurrying off, probably trying to escape the rain that was sure to come in a few minutes. Since the crowd had dissolved anyways, Phil decided that it was time for him to get going. The only people he would meet here in the evening were bar hoppers, and he figured most of them wouldn’t want to carry a huge piece of cardboard with them anyways, rolled up and tied or not.

The soft tunes of The Piano still accompanying him, he packed up his supplies quickly and stuffed them into his duffel bag. It wouldn’t close properly anymore (he had the bad habit of buying waaay too many cans of spray paint in colours he wouldn’t need, just because he thought they were pretty), so it was always hard to get everything home safely. At least he didn’t live too far away from the music store (another reason why he chose to paint there most days).

Phil quickly took off walking, throwing another wary glance at the quickly darkening sky, and was promptly met with a person shaped weight smacking into him and tackling him to the ground.

“Uhff!”, he huffed upon having the breath knocked out of him and sat up on the pavement, a bit dizzy, and added a helpless “Oh no.”, as he watched the spray paint cans fall out of his bag in slow motion, each one hitting the floor with a loud clonking noise and starting to roll away in different directions.

He tried to get up quickly, only to bump heads with the mysterious clumsy stranger yet again. The other person muttered, “Oh, fuck,” quietly and quickly held Phil away at arm-length. Phil looked up and locked eyes with a man about his age with brown hair, brown eyes, and limbs equally as long as his own.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry for almost knocking you out!” Mysterious Clumsy Stranger (Phil decided to shorten it to MCS in his head until he was able to gather up the courage to ask him for his real name) said and looked at Phil with apologetic puppy eyes (his kryptonite). “Let me help you gather up your stuff before it starts to pour, alright?”

He bent down and started collecting the stray cans, quickly followed by Phil who was still recovering from his encounter with the floor (and MCS’s head). When they were finished packing his bag, the brown haired man flashed Phil a dimpled smile and said,”I guess we better get going, there’s still a chance we’ll both get home dry after I nearly headbutted you to death. Sorry again.”  
“No problem, I uh. I get the whole clumsiness thing,” Phil replied and threw him a crooked grin, flailing a little with his arms to reinforce his statement. Smooth, Philip.

MCS laughed and said, “Yeah, I’m like a newborn giraffe,” mimicking his movements. He saluted ironically (or at least Phil thought that it was ironic, he wasn’t so sure) and hurried away, probably towards his bus stop or apartment.

Phil was still standing there a bit flabbergasted when the first raindrop hit his nose, and he blamed that entirely on the concussion he probably had by now.

He started speed-walking towards his flat, clutching his duffel bag tightly, and made it there barely in time before it started absolutely bucketing down. Leaning against the wall of the corridor and breathing heavily (he really needed to exercise more), Phil wondered idly if Mysterious Clumsy Stranger had made it home safe and if he was going to see him again. 

* * *

It took Phil three whole days to return to his usual spot next to The Piano for various reasons. Reason number one: he was out of black paint and the crafts store wasn’t open on Sundays, so naturally he had to enjoy a lazy day on the couch with a bag of crisps and some Netflix. Reason number two: it had been drizzling since his encounter with MCS and while he wasn’t exactly opposed to being out in the rain, his paintings would beg to differ. And reason number three… maybe he just didn’t feel like leaving his apartment.

On day four, though, he was woken up by the sun shining right into his face. Phil groaned and turned around, burying his face in his pillow, which was a bad idea, considering he hadn’t cleaned up the glitter covering his bed yet. So what, maybe he had gotten kind of bored the day before and attempted to make his own sparkly slime. He was still kind of bummed that it didn’t work out how he wanted it to. He was an artist, after all, so that shouldn’t have been a challenge for him.

Regretting his decision not to invest in a pair of blinds for his bedroom, Phil struggled out of bed and squinted against the outrageously bright light. It seemed like today, he wouldn’t have an excuse to stay at home. Sighing, Phil changed into something more socially acceptable than the Emoji pj’s he was currently wearing and ate the last remaining crumbs of his cereal. He had to stop by the shops to buy new spray paint anyways.

Half an hour later, Phil stood in front of the paint aisle, staring unblinking at the colour labels in front of him. The last time he had been here, which was about two months ago, the colours had had normal names like “Pale Pink,” “Soft Citrus” and “Sunset.” Those weren’t very creative, but Phil absolutely did not want to get started on a lengthy discussion about the inaccuracy of the descriptions; He supposed that none of the employees would appreciate him ranting about the importance of proper labeling. . Though, it seemed like he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. 

Somehow, since his last spray paint binge (he was still convinced that one day he would need that particular shade of fluorescent purple so it wasn’t really a waste of money), someone had come and changed the names of the craft stores entire colour palette. Now, the old ones had been replaced with phrases like “Unicorn Fart”, “Piss Yellow” and “Very Ugly Orange, Do Not Buy”.

Well. At least they were honest.

Phil smiled amusedly at the tags and hoped that whoever had changed the names wasn’t going to get fired for it. He followed the row until the very end and picked up four cans of what was currently labeled as, “Almost As Dark As Dan’s Soul” before impulsively going back to the New Arrivals section and grabbing a can of metallic purple spray paint simply titled “Fabulous.”

He headed towards the cash register, trying not to drop his stack of new paint he totally needed, and didn’t look up until he was practically throwing his articles on the counter and looking up into the face of the cashier who was... none other than his Mysterious Clumsy Stranger from three days ago.

“You!” Phil blurted. He saw recognition dawn in the other man’s brown eyes and realized that now would have probably been a good moment to shut up before he could embarrass himself further, but then his gaze fell on MCS’s nametag which read “Dan”.  
Consequently, instead of coming up with something witty and charming, he ended up saying: “I want to buy your soul!”

Which, now that he thought about it, sounded kind of like he was part of a cult. Not trusting himself not to say something equally stupid if he tried to speak again, Phil shut his mouth and settled on staring at Dan (thank god, he didn’t have to keep calling him by weird acronyms anymore) who in turn was staring right back at him. Very slowly, the brown haired man started to grin and Phil couldn’t help but gawk in awe because seriously, dimples.

“Are you implying that you are Satan so I can ask you if it hurt if you fell from heaven? Because that’s literally the most cliché line one could possibly use as a conversation starter.” Dan said and winked at him. “And by the way, I can totally see through your facade, and the answer is no. You don’t get a discount for flirting with the cashier.”

Phil ducked his head and gave him a little grin “Oh, come on. I wasn’t even trying. I’ve got game if I’ve had my morning coffee.” Which was a total lie, but Dan didn’t have to know that just yet. 

Dan laughed at that, and although he sounded a bit like a dying hyena, it was probably the best thing Phil had heard all day. “Alright, after my shift ends we can go get coffee together, and you can try to convince me that you’re actually a smooth guy who just happens to have a dorky haircut.”

“Hey!” he complained and touched his fringe subconsciously. “I like my haircut! Besides, you have nearly the same one.”

“True.” Dan admitted “But I never pretended not to be a giant nerd who’s still stuck in 2008, Snow White.”

Phil frowned at the nickname. “Don’t call me Snow White, it’s not my fault that my skin’s nearly translucent.” 

“Tell me your real name, then.” the cashier demanded and leaned on the counter. Oh, right, Phil still hadn’t introduced himself.

“My name is Philip Lester. But you can call me Phil.” he said and stretched out his hand on impulse. Suddenly, he wondered if people still shook hands nowadays when they met each other. His mum always told him that it was the polite thing to do, but what if Dan thought it was weird? Or what if his hands were clammy? Crap, it was probably too late to pull it back now, was it?

Completely ignoring Phil’s awkward dilemma, the brown haired man took his hand and shook it, smiling brightly. “I’m Dan.”

“I know,” Phil blurted out “It says so on your name tag. And, uh.” he gestured at the cans of spray paint that were still lying on the counter, waiting to get checked out.”It was also on the label for the colour that was called ‘Dark Black’ when I was here a few weeks ago. It’s called, ‘Almost As Dark As Dan’s soul,’ I think.”

The other man furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ll have to have a word with my coworker after this. Labelling the colours was originally my task but we switched because my handwriting’s chicken scratch at best and illegible at worst. Wait!” he looked up at Phil suddenly and started smiling again. “That means you aren’t a satanist!”

Now it was Phil’s turn to be confused. “You would’ve gotten coffee with a satanist?”

“Totally, mate. No shaming, you do you.” he said and lifted his hands in a defensive gesture, adding “As long as you don’t sacrifice puppies. Puppies is where I draw the line.” 

“I’m not.” Phil blinked rapidly. He somehow got the feeling that he wouldn’t be the weird one in this friendship. “I’m not a satanist.” he felt the need to clarify. 

“Great! Give me your number then and I’ll call you when I get out of here.” Dan said.

Phil handed him his phone and mumbled, “I feel like this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” to himself, apparently just loud enough for Dan to hear.

“Usually I’d agree wholeheartedly, but if you misquote Casablanca one more time, I’ll literally shove my law textbook up your ass.” he said, sounding slightly threatening and casual at the same time. 

Phil rolled his eyes “I know he says, ‘I think’ instead of, ‘I feel like,’ but I’m not Rick and you’re not Louis and I wasn’t even trying to quote Casablanca. Could it be possible that you take your movie trivia a bit too seriously?”

Dan gave him another dimpled smile, “One of the things you will learn about me, Phil Lester, is that my entire existence is nothing but the universe's weirdest attempt at a joke.”

 

* * *

 

Dan’s shift ended at four, so they made plans to meet up at the tiny hipster café nearby. Phil had never actually been there before because he usually got his caffeine fix at the local Starbucks, but had the suspicion that Dan was one of those people who hated coffee shop chains with a burning passion. So, in an attempt not to sound too much like a teenage girl whose main communication tool was Snapchat, he suggested the new place that had opened in the city centre only a few months ago. 

He spent the two hours before Dan could join him wandering around in a small park close to the café. There weren’t that many people since the paths were still covered in puddles from the previous rainy days, but Phil enjoyed not getting hit in the face by flying footballs or being chased by dogs for a change. He sat down on a bench and felt icy cold water soaking through his jeans. Right, the rain. Deciding that getting up wouldn’t help his situation anyways, he settled on making a little disgusted noise and taking out his sketchbook.

Weirdly, he was never that good at drawing or even painting. Someone who knew him when he was a kid probably never would have guessed that he’d end up being an art major and earning money as a spray paint artist when he didn’t have classes. 

The turning point that made him reevaluate his goal of becoming a weatherman was when he was about 16 years old and at a friend’s birthday. It wasn’t one of those parties with beer and people making out to obnoxiously loud music, their group wasn’t quite cool enough for that. Instead, they’d just ended up walking through the city at night, trying to spot the stars despite the light pollution and taking turns drinking chocolate liquor from a bottle that one of them (Phil wasn’t sure who) had brought along. 

He had been trailing behind when he spotted the silhouette of a guy peeing against a wall. When he had tried to confront him though, it turned out that the guy had just been pretending to do so in case they were going to call the cops on him. What he’d actually been doing was spray painting cats over obscene graffiti and racial slurs. After the initial act of convincing him that Phil wasn’t going to rat him out, he’d let him watch him finishing the piece and introduced himself as Pete before answering all the questions Phil bombarded him with. 

The next day, Phil came back to take a look at the graffiti in broad daylight where he saw a little girl walking by with her mother smile at the cartoonish kitten at the wall and… that was it, apparently.  
Phil decided that he wanted to create something that would make people’s days better and that they’d enjoy looking at.  
A few years of art classes later (with teachers not nearly as good as Pete), he'd gotten pretty good at spraying, and even the whole drawing thing.

That didn’t mean that he was an artistic genius though. Sitting on a bench in a sad little park with damp trousers and water dripping onto the pages of his sketchbook, he realized once again that art was not nearly as easy as it was portrayed in most books or movies.  
For example, as much as he would have liked to sketch a cute little portrait of Dan from memory how people usually did in romantic comedies, that was simply not going to happen.  
(Not that he didn’t try, but the result was so horrible that he decided to use his eraser and send it to hell where it belonged).

Instead, he settled on sketching out the vague silhouette of a few trees while waiting for Dan’s shift to end. Phil kind of hoped that it would calm his nerves, since talking to new people was never an easy thing for him. Weirdly enough, he had actually felt pretty comfortable talking to Dan. Maybe it was the whole meme-trash aesthetic he had going on that made Phil relax, or maybe they had already formed some kind of psychic bond. 

Mentally plotting out the story of a supernatural anime starring him and Dan as the main characters, possibly with a few dogs as their sidekicks, he started to walk towards the café where they wanted to meet up. He somehow had the feeling that this was going to be the best date ever (if it was a date, he wasn’t so sure about that).

 

* * *

 

It was the worst date ever.

If it was even a date at all, Phil wasn’t so sure about that. Did people usually call their date ‘mate’ and ‘bro’? Probably not.

He could have gotten over the initial disappointment upon realizing that, despite his flirty behavior, Dan probably just saw him as a new friend very quickly, if it wasn’t for the general awkwardness of their situation.  
It had turned out that apparently, they weren’t the only ones who had the idea of going to the new coffeehouse in the city centre. When they first arrived, Phil had been taken aback by the masses of hipster kids in the room that were not only younger but also way cooler than him. 

He sighed and shifted a little uncomfortably on the tiny couch that Dan and him were sitting on. Phil kind of suspected that it wasn’t actually made for two people (especially not two over 6 feet tall guys) but there hadn’t been anywhere else to sit.

“If at least the coffee was good,” he mumbled, staring miserably into his mug filled with bitter black liquid. 

“I know right? This is literally the worst excuse for coffee I’ve encountered in my entire life.” the brunette replied, disgust visible on his face as he scowled at his own cup. “Why are we here again?”

Phil shrugged. “Seemed like your scene. Didn’t think there would be...”

“Pretentious little shits who think their trendy hipster asses are too good for Starbucks everywhere?” Dan interrupted him.

Phil furrowed his brow and gave him a disapproving look. “That’s a little harsh. I was going to say ‘this many people’. Though I’d probably kill for a Caramel Macchiato right now.”

Dan’s face brightened up at that. “That’s my usual order too! We’ve got to be soulmates!”

“Because we have the same favourite hot beverage from a coffeehouse mass chain that operates globally and probably serves millions of people daily?”

“Exactly! Now let’s get out of here before we catch something and start wearing snazzy sassy glasses like everyone else.”

Secretly grateful that he was wearing his contacts that day, Phil let himself be pulled up and dragged out of the café by Dan, quickly paying for their unfinished drinks before following him into the cold.

 

* * *

 

Starbucks was evil, no doubt, but their coffee just tasted too damn good.

Thank god, Phil didn’t actually have to kill in order to get his Caramel Macchiato, as it turned out that Dan was just as much of a hypocrite as him who despised everything that food chains stood for but couldn’t help being caught in their sugary sweet spider web anyways.

They decided to get their coffee to go because they both agreed that sitting in yet another stuffy, crowded room wasn’t going to be very pleasant. Instead, they settled on walking around the city centre aimlessly. Most people had taken shelter in one of the many cafés and restaurants as it had started drizzling again. Actually, Phil wasn’t entirely sure if it was drizzling or if it was simply the everlasting fog over London that made his fingers around his cup clammy and Dan’s hair curl from the humidity. 

When he voiced that thought to Dan, the brunette shrugged (and attempted to casually flatten his hair). “I’m not sure if this counts as fog or rain, but it feels like walking through a cloud.”

“When I was younger, I always wanted to live up in the clouds with my dog. I was quite disappointed when my teacher told me that I’d probably freeze to death, aside from the whole gravity thing...” Phil told him, lifting his coffee to take a sip and warming his hands.

Dan laughed at that and gave him a fond look “Yeah, the whole gravity thing is ruining life for me too. Well, that and law school.”

Phil furrowed his brow “You’re a law student? Huh.”

“What?”  
“Nothing! It’s just… you don’t seem like the law type?” Phil bit his lip, trying hard to think of a way to say this without being offensive. “You just seemed to be more of the creative type? If I would have had to guess I’d pegged you as a literature or drama student.”

Dan gave him a funny look. “I actually always dreamed of studying drama, but my family said that it’s a guaranteed way of ending up unemployed and homeless, so I was just like…. fuck it, how hard can law be? It turns out, the answer is: Pretty fucking hard.”

Dan kicked a pebble across the street, looking defeated. Phil would have liked to hug him, or maybe hold his hand, but they both had their coffee. Perhaps it was better like that anyways. He settled on gently bumping his shoulder against Dan’s. “Hey. It’s going to be okay, you can do this.”

The brunette smiled at him a little sheepishly and mumbled “Thanks, I kind of needed to hear that.” He pulled himself together visibly and said “Enough of my self-depreciating shit, what about you? I already know that you spend a few days a week spraying nebulas in the city centre, but what else do you do?”

“I’m an art major in my final year, I like playing computer games, listening to Muse, and, uh… watching anime.” Phil listed. “Wait, how do you know how often I go spraying? We only met once.”

“Whoops.” Dan said and grinned, showing off his dimples. “Would it be weird if I told you that I actually watched you spray a few times already?” Phil opened his mouth to reply but Dan continued quickly “Not in a creepy way, I just thought that it was really aesthetically pleasing and I was kind of trying to gather the courage to buy one of your paintings.”

Phil frowned “I never noticed you before.”

Dan shrugged “Yeah, I was mostly just standing in the piano queue, trying very hard to blend into the background. Usually, that works for me. One of the perks of wearing all black.”

“You play the piano? Oh!” Phil had a sudden realization. “You were that one person who played ‘Für Elise’ the other day, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, that was one of the first songs I learned to play. You noticed it?”

“Of course I did.” Phil said and grinned at him “It was a nice change compared to all the other people there who I usually have to listen to. ‘Chopsticks’ ruined my life.”

That made Dan laugh his weird, strangely endearing hyena-laugh again “Yeah, I can easily imagine how unnerving that can get. Maybe I should just go with you everyday and make sure that only top quality music is played.” 

“Yes, please!” Phil replied jokingly. He opened his mouth to continue talking when suddenly, something wet fell on his nose. Startled, he turned to look at Dan and stage whispered “Please tell me that was a raindrop and I didn’t just get pooped on by a pigeon.”

“Although the latter would be incredibly funny to me, I’m pretty sure that it is starting to rain right now.” The brunette said and looked up at the sky. “Should we run or something?”

Phil blinked as he felt another raindrop hit his face and run down his cheek like a tear. “Probably. My place isn’t far away and I could make microwave popcorn.”

“Deal.” said Dan and quickly tossed their empty coffee cups into a bin. He took Phil’s hand and started running just as the sky opened up.

“We’re running the wrong way, my flat is over there!” Phil yelled over the sound of their feet hitting the wet pavement.

“Well, fuck!” Dan yelled back and turned around flourishly. “Maybe you should be the one leading.” He said sheepishly.

“Yeah, probably.” Phil replied and grinned, tugging him along. It felt kind of like a déja-vu, the two of them running from the chilly september rain. Only this time, they were running in the same direction.

 

* * *

 

The reason why Phil had proposed to make microwave popcorn was because he literally didn’t have anything else edible in his flat, much to Dan’s amusement. Somehow they made it work though, sitting on Phil’s ratty old couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching reruns of old cartoons and listening to the rain fall.

In the end, maybe it wasn’t that bad of a probably-not-date. 

What Phil hadn’t anticipated was how fast they’d become friends. It seemed like they didn’t only have the same favourite Starbucks drink, they also liked the same TV shows, the same computer games and most importantly, they both agreed that while cats were cute, dogs were definitely the best. If he was honest, he was kind of reevaluating his opinion on soulmates.

Surprisingly, Dan hadn’t been kidding when he had offered to protect Phil’s ears while he was working. After their first not-date, they had texted and even called each other a few times, but they hadn’t made plans to meet up again. When Phil went spraying a few days later though, he was pleasantly surprised when he was met with a familiar brunette grinning at him mischievously from the piano queue. It turned out, Dan was a more-than-okay piano player. Somehow, he got away with occupying it for more than an hour without someone outright demanding him to leave. Maybe everyone just assumed that he was a street musician who had brought his own piano onto the streets (not very likely) or they thought that the shop owner had hired him (a little more likely), or maybe they just really liked listening to him play. Phil did, at least.

Afterwards, when Phil was packing up his utensils, Dan had come over and helped him carry everything home. Phil had been grateful for his help, but even more for his company, if he was being honest. 

“Thanks for spending the day trying to save me from horrendous piano music, I really appreciate it. I’m sure you had lots of different options for things to do today that didn’t involve freezing on the street and watching me spray the same thing over and over again.”

“Are you kidding me? I love watching you work, it’s mesmerizing. Besides, it was nice to play in front of actual people instead of my wilting houseplant for a change. A few old ladies actually gave me some change; I think they thought that I was a legit musician. Of course, that’s only a nice side effect of getting to spend the day with my favourite person.”

“I’m your favourite person?”

“Phil, literally the only competition you have right now is my stoner roommate and a dying houseplant.”

And just like that, Dan hanging out with Phil when he was spraying in the city centre became their thing. Sometimes they just talked, sometimes Dan brought chinese takeout, and sometimes (pretty often actually) Dan offered to play for Phil while he created space inspired artworks and tried to sell them more or less successfully. As the nights got longer and the days colder, the two of them started to spend time at each others places more frequently too.  
Phil met Dan’s roommate (and suddenly understood why Dan prefered hanging out at Phil’s apartment) and his poor wilting cactus that he decided to name Edward. 

“Phiiil! You can’t just steal my plants!”

“Plant, singular, and you are killing him, Dan! I’ve never in my entire life seen a cactus in such a bad state! What do you even water him with, bleach?”

“You aren’t supposed to water cacti, Phil! Where were you even going to put him? You have literally no place left in your apartment for any more plants!”

Somehow, between Phil painting on the streets of London, attending his classes, spending time with Dan and sneaking water into Edward’s pot, almost two months passed. The weather was getting worse with each passing day, and they had long ago passed the pretty, red-golden stage of autumn.  
It was one of those days that are cold, but not in a rainy way. The wind was dry, biting and smelled faintly of winter when Phil went to his usual spot next to The Piano and set up his his gear. He was wearing fingerless gloves to protect himself against the cold, but he needed to be able to move, so wrapping himself up in a bunch of scarves and thick winter coats wasn’t really an option. He blew on his already numbing fingers, trying to warm them up a bit, what didn’t really do anything besides causing his glasses to fog up. Maybe he should have worn his contacts, but his cousin once told him about someone who knew someone whose contact lenses had frozen during an especially cold winter and Phil wasn’t too keen on getting blinded by a splinter of ice. 

After about an hour, Phil was pretty sure that Dan wasn’t going to join him that day. That in itself wasn’t a rare occasion, what with his work at the crafts store and his exams at university approaching. Sure, he would have liked to see him a little more often, but they still spent a lot of their free time together. Dan even slept at Phil’s once, on the night of Halloween. They had watched a few more or less scary movies and attempted to bake before playing horror games together. Phil smiled to himself, thinking of that one time he had gotten jump scared and caused Dan to break out into his terrible laugh with his high pitched screeching. 

He looked up and saw Dan walking into his direction with his hands in the pockets of his black coat and his curls tousled. He waved at him quickly but didn’t greet him further because he was still in the process of completing the painting he was currently working on. Phil frowned and wondered if he was getting dates mixed up, because he could have sworn that Dan had a shift at the crafts store right now. He shrugged and decided to let it go, blaming it on his bad memory. 

Phil could tell the exact moment when his friend reached the front of the queue because in the sudden improvement of the quality of the music he was listening to. It seemed like today was one of Dan’s nostalgic days. Usually, he liked to play a few classical pieces mixed with modern pop or indie songs (with some Linkin Park or Muse thrown in once in a while), but today seemed to be a Pop Punk day. It was only after the seventh My Chemical Romance song in a row, only interrupted by Fall Out Boys ‘What a Catch, Donnie’ that he was starting to get concerned. 

Phil packed up his stuff a bit earlier than he did usually and went over to Dan who was still sitting on the bench and hammering out the melody of ‘I’m Not Okay, I promise’.  
“Hey Dan, uhm. Are you… okay?”

Dan didn’t turn around or interrupt his playing. “Yeah, everything’s peachy. Why are you asking?”

“Well, if I was counting correctly, that was the third time that you’ve played that song today. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” He carefully placed his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I just want to know where all that angst is coming from right now.”

Dan sighed and slumped down, leaning a little against Phil’s side. “I got fired.”

“Oh shit. What happened?”

“I sold an axe to a twelve year old.”

“Dan…” Phil started to say.

“I know!” he interrupted him. “I have no idea what I was thinking, it was so obvious that that kid was testing me out, but I’m so worried about my exams right now and it’s all too much and now I can’t even afford rent anymore oh fuck I’m literally going to fail and end up homeless on the streets -”

“Dan!” Phil said, more forcefully this time. “It’s going to be okay, trust me. I don’t think that you will fail, but have you ever considered doing something else if this course is stressing you out that much?” He lifted his hand when Dan tried to protest. “I’m not suggesting anything, it’s just a thought I had. It’s completely up to you what you want to do in the future. As for now, just breathe. Then we’ll go to my place because I still have a few Maltesers left and sugar always helps.”

“... Fine.” Dan huffed and got up, pulling Phil with him. “Why are you always so goddamn reasonable again?”

“For your Yoda I am, young Daniel.” He said in his best Yoda impression, his best still being pretty bad. 

“You dork.” Dan mumbled and shoved him affectionately. 

“Your dork.” Phil replied, silently thankful that his stupid joke had made Dan smile. 

“Oh whatever, let’s get chocolate. Nice glasses by the way.”

“Thanks. I need them to see.”

 

* * *

 

Phil spent the next five days trying to convince Dan that moving in with him would be a fantastic idea. It started with him dropping hints that he had a spare room that he wasn’t using since his last roommate had graduated and quickly evolved to monologues about how much he liked having Dan around. At this point, he wasn’t even sure anymore if Dan hadn’t gotten his hints or if he simply didn’t want to move in with Phil, which… would suck, but he still had his hopes up. 

This wasn’t about that tiny little crush that he had on Dan in the beginning of their friendship, it really wasn’t. He’d gotten over that ages ago. Phil thought back to Halloween a few weeks earlier, when they had laid next to each other on the floor of Phil’s bedroom because neither of them wanted to take the bed while the other slept on a mattress. 

“Phil?” Dan had yawned.

“Yeah?” Phil had yawned too, because he believed in the contagiousness of yawning.

“You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Really?”

“No, just kidding, no one could ever take the place that Edward holds in my heart.”

“Really?”

“Of course not you spork, you’re literally like my favourite person right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my favourite person too.”

He had practically heard the smug grin in Dan’s voice. “I know?”

“Wait how do you know?” 

“You offered me your last marshmallow, Phil. We both know that means you love me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Fast forward to mid-november, present Dan was driving Phil insane. One afternoon, he was sitting at Phil’s kitchen table, drinking coffee from Phil’s mug and wearing one of Phil’s socks, all the while searching for affordable apartments in London that weren’t too far away from his university. “Phiiiiiil.” He whined. “How am I ever going to find a flat if my only choices are living with at least four other creepy dudes who like to party every night or share a miserable one-room-apartment with a bunch of rats?”

“Why don’t you just live with me?” Phil replied a little snappishly. There were a few seconds of stunned silence from Dan. Then:

“Really? You want me to move in with you?”

“Of course I do! What do you think I’ve been trying to suggest for the past week?” He asked frustratedly and ran a hand through his messy fringe.

“But I’m broke. I probably won’t be able to pay rent until I’ve gotten another job.” Dan protested.

“Look, I don’t care. If you want you can pay me back in a few months or years or whatever, I just don’t want you to end up under a bridge. And… uhm. I like having you around.”

“Are you completely one hundred percent sure?” Dan asked, biting his lip.

“Of course I am. You’re my best friend. Besides, it’s the best for Edward. The poor little guy looks like he’s been dying a slow painful death for the last two years.” 

Dan rolled his eyes and grinned “Of course, you only want me around so you can get all my plants.”

“Plant. Singular.” Phil smiled back at him. “I’m glad that you won’t have to live with rats. Hug?” He asked after a second. Dan was a very good hugger, ten out of ten for warmth and slight squishiness, but he wasn’t really sure what their physical boundaries were yet.

“Hug.” Dan confirmed and they silently sealed their agreement.

Two weeks later, Dan moved in. Phil pretended that he was only happy about being near his favourite cactus, but he couldn’t help but smile fondly every time he looked at his best friend.

 

* * *

 

It was a few days before Christmas and Dan and Phil were watching a movie on Phil’s couch. Their couch. Huh. He was still getting used to referring to their shared apartment as ‘theirs’ but it still made him smile every time he thought about it. Living with your best friend was literally the best thing ever. For example, they were watching Nightmare Before Christmas right now, even though they had watched it only two months before on Halloween, and everything they had eaten that day were cornflakes and marshmallows. Speaking of which…

“Hey Dan, pass me the marshmallows.”

Dan took the bag from where it was lost in the sofa crease and handed it to Phil without taking his eyes off the screen. “There you go, mate.”

“Thanks.” Phil replied and wiggled a little so he could lay down more comfortably. He opened the bag of sweets and groaned. “Oh no. That’s the last one.” He handed the bag back to Dan.

In that exact moment, the realization hit him like a brick. Or lots of bricks. ‘Resigning the last marshmallow means love’. Well… it seemed like Phil couldn’t argue against that anymore. He looked at Dan with his messy curls and his baggy sweater and the pillow creases that were still visible on his cheeks and he said: “I love you.”

“Love you too.” The brunette mumbled around the marshmallow he was chewing.

Phil was pretty sure that he was about to have a breakdown, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to shut up.

“No, not like that. It’s like…” he was struggling to find the right words “I want to take you out on dates and make you tea when you’re sick and listen to you rant about Kanye West for hours and play Brown Eyed Girl on the guitar whenever I see you.”

“You can’t play the guitar.” Dan pointed out helpfully and finally turned to face Phil.

“Yeah, but you make me want to learn it, but that… that’s totally not the point right now!” He said and felt his cheeks heating up. “I’m like… literally confessing my feelings right now and you are eating the last marshmallow!”

Dan swallowed said marshmallow and took Phil’s hand in his. “Calm down, Phil. Breathe. Everything’s okay.”

“Urgh.” Phil made an indistinguishable sound and threw his head back. “Why are you so calm right now?”

Dan shrugged. “I’ve been kind of waiting for you to figure things out for a few weeks now, so I’m actually more relieved than surprised right now.”

“Wait. What?” Phil muttered faintly.

Dan smiled at him and this time Phil couldn’t resist the urge to poke his dimples. The other man rolled his eyes at him, still grinning though, and said: “I love you too, you spork.”

Phil blinked rapidly. “But… you mate-zoned me!” he protested. “Remember when we first got coffee?”

“Phil. We are british. You call your cousins mate. You call your female professor mate. Yesterday I heard you call our shower curtain mate.”

He couldn’t exactly reason against that, but somehow it felt like everything was being too easy right now. “But…” Phil started.

“No ‘but’. I like you, you like me. Wanna date?”

Phil scrunched up his nose despite the smile that was forcing its way onto his face. “That’s not exactly romantic, Daniel.”

Dan raised his eyebrow. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, that’s a yes.” Phil answered and grinned. “But you have to choose a place that is at least a little fancier than the sofa crease.”

“That’s fine with me.” Dan replied and scooted a little closer. Phil slumped against his side and rested his head on his shoulder, sighing contently.

“Thank you for letting me have the last marshmallow.” Dan whispered.

“Always.” Phil muttered. “But we actually do have another bag somewhere in the kitchen that I hid from you.”


End file.
